Halo: Legacy
by Ariane-072
Summary: POST H4 - SPOILERS! Cortana is gone. The Didact used the Composer to destroy a large percentage of the human population. The Storm Covenant are a very real and very lethal threat. As humanity rebuilds, SPARTAN-IV Haydn Vance explores his own pain, and in the process, shows John that while the SPARTAN-IIs are aging now and outmoded, they still have a lot to give. Rated T to be safe.
1. Prologue

It was worth the pain.

It was worth the pain.

It was worth the pain.

Haydn couldn't move without a grunt of agony forcing its way through his teeth, but it was worth it. So worth it. He would push through this like he pushed through everything else he had ever been through, and then he would be given his new insignia. It would make him a Spartan.

It was worth it. Worth every ounce of agony. But, even so, he found himself repeating the same line over and over in his head. To be a Spartan was worth the pain it took to get there. Very few soldiers could pass the test to even _begin_ the special training, much less survive it long enough – without dropping out – to get to this point.

And Haydn was the youngest in history. He was just a rookie still – granted, a rookie Helljumper, so no greenhorn, but not exactly a seasoned veteran either – and at twenty years two days four hours and thirty-two seconds of age, the moment his final augmentation was completed [the one he was presently recovering from, in fact], he was the youngest ever.

Nobody would ever call him 'Rookie' again. Ever. Well. Maybe the other Spartans would, but that wasn't so bad.

Painfully, and with a groan that was almost a moan, he sat up and opened his eyes. He was in a nondescript infirmary cot in a typically nondescript infirmary, and a completely forgettable nurse rushed over to try to push him back down, but Haydn resisted her hand easily, though she was clearly very strong. For a normal human.

His muscle augmentations had happened a couple of weeks ago, and Haydn was finally getting used to being stronger than most other people he dealt with. His present pain was neurological, and to do with the brain enhancements he had been given so that he could really use his new capabilities to the fullest potential. And so that he could house a smart AI unit, if he was selected to.

"Lie down, kid," a deep, unfamiliar voice growled. Haydn looked over to the source of the voice, ignoring the sickening pain that lanced through his brain, and blinked a few times, unsure if he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing. Or rather, _who_ he thought he was seeing.

The armored Spartan – who stood a _lot_ taller than any Spartan that Haydn had ever had anything to do with – removed his helmet, face wearing a disapproving frown. "I gave you an order, soldier!"

"Sir!" Haydn responded automatically, but instead of laying back flat, he brought the bed up so that he was in a half-sitting position.

"I trust you have already been told you will be expected to rest for five days, and not move from this cot for three of those."

"Yes, sir." Other than three words – yes, sir, and understood – Haydn found himself completely dumbstruck. It _was_ who he thought it was. It really _was_ the Master Chief. He had heard the Chief was moody as a baseline, and worse because a year ago he had lost a partner, but Haydn watched the older Spartan's face carefully and saw only a distinct desire to be out of this room. Which, clearly, was more than the nurse could see. If a Spartan wanted something, most of the nurses here went out of their way to make it happen. Whether that Spartan voiced his desire or not.

"Don't mistake this for me actually caring what happens to you. You are a soldier – just a tool. I grant that you are a member of the elite. One of the few who has what it takes to make it through training and augmentation. But this war… has claimed soldiers far more experienced, and of a far higher caliber. You will not retire. The best you can hope for is to go out in a spectacular and bloody manner… as befitting a Spartan."

"Yes, sir." Chief was chatty. Haydn hadn't expected that. Granted this was a rehearsed speech, but still… there was a lot that was being said that didn't need to be.

"So, with that in mind… I have come to inform you, do _not_ trust Command. You are still being tested. The sooner you are back to full combat operational status, the better you will fare when they spring their surprise. I speak from experience. Nothing is ever as simple as it seems, especially now, when the UNSC does not yet know what you are capable of. Understood?"

"Understood, sir."

"I don't think you know the gravity of this, Spartan. Today is the first day of the new life you have chosen. They will start testing you, and very soon."

"Yes, sir, you have made yourself clear." Haydn wasn't quite sure if saying that was stepping over the line. He hadn't any experience with SPARTAN-IIs like the Master Chief – a man whose name nobody knew, except perhaps Doctor Halsey, and any IIs who might still be out there somewhere. His experience with Spartans was all to do with IVs, the men and women he now called his brothers and sisters in arms.

"Then, Spartan Haydn Vance, you are dismissed… for now."

Haydn thought he saw a brief, faint hint of approval flash across the older Spartan's face, before the man turned and left. He wasn't sure if the Chief's warning was a real warning, or just Command screwing with his head. But, either way, it seemed to be one test that he had passed. This whole Spartan thing seemed so natural. Like he really belonged. He wasn't on the outside anymore. A cadet but not really one of the brotherhood… a Helljumper, but not a Helljumper at all… and then a cadet again, for the SPARTAN-IV program. He hadn't quite fit in anywhere as a normal human being. This, though… this was _right_.

And that was why it was worth the pain.

He didn't even care if he still struggled to relate to his fellows. Haydn closed his eyes with a satisfied smile. This was what he had been born for. _This_ was his purpose in life.


	2. Chapter 1: Eye of the Storm

_*******LANGUAGE WARNING, IF CUSSING OFFENDS YOU DO NOT CONTINUE READING*******_

* * *

_**ONE; EYE OF THE STORM.**_

Mid-2560. Zeta Sector. Storm-Covenant controlled space. Alone, but not alone.

Any and all of those were words and phrases Spartan Vance would use to describe his situation. He did not, however, agree with Spartan Cross's assessment: "We're screwed."

So, despite the fact that Ellen Cross was leader and Haydn Vance was second-in-command, he took charge. "Shut your mouth, Cross. We got this. So they got a couple Wraiths, no worries. Nothing we can't handle."

"Yeah, except that's more than a couple, and we got no heavies," Cross retorted angrily. "Remember your place, Vance! You don't get to say whether we're screwed or not!"

"Before you give in completely and raise the white flag, _Lead_, hear him out," the heavy weapons expert, Spartan Owen Potter, interjected. "Sounds like Vance has a plan."

"Damn right I got a plan," Vance said, depolarizing his faceplate so the fireteam could see his feral grin. "It's kinda crazy, but they won't be expecting it…"

"No."

"Not even gonna hear me out?"

Cross sighed heavily. "Fine. Sixty seconds. If you haven't sold it to me by the time my counter hits zero, I'll have Gates run you through with that energy sword he picked up."

"What makes you think _Gates_ will take your side?" Spartan Tony Gates asked cheerfully. "Last I checked, I like Vance better than you."

"Fifty seconds, Vance!"

Grinning even wider, Haydn took out his combat knife and started scratching a rough diagram in the dirt. "We have cover here, here, and here. This building-" he stabbed a shape "-is covered on all sides by heavy infantry and Shade turrets. That leaves there, and there. The Wraiths are patrolling this area, and with no heavy weapons, we have to get close – except we can't get close. Right?"

"Right." Cross glared at him. "And that's why we're screwed."

"But," Vance said, eyes sparkling, "what if we _can_? Gates speaks fluent Sangheili, and he has that sword…"

"I see what you're getting at. You're fucking insane."

"Well, I was, but I ditched her for stupid, and now I'm fucking serious." Vance paused while Potter, Gates and Holden let out choked snorts of laughter and Cross and Ware glared daggers at him, then, laughing himself, he stabbed another patch of dirt with his knife. "Gates can get us to about there, unless they got smarter in the past ten minutes, and then we have to scatter and move fast. One Wraith each, no backup because once those Wraiths are gone we gotta get the fuck outta Dodge. Ain't got the numbers to take on that much infantry. Or the firepower."

"That's never going to work," Cross said.

"Au contraire, sweetheart," Spartan Dale Holden said with a predatory smile. "It's just crazy enough to work."

Haydn didn't much like the other members of his fireteam – he argued with them on a regular basis, and unlike them, actually meant the insults he threw around over meals and during ops – but all the same, he did need them. Twelve highly capable, hyper-lethal Spartans, himself included, had a chance at getting out of this alive and successful. Spartan Vance on his own would have lasted about five seconds.

"We should listen to Vance," Spartan Taryn Ware cut in. "Unless anyone has a better idea?"

"Here's one," Cross said, only half joking. "We set the charges, use him as bait, and get the fuck out of here while he goes out in a blaze of glory, saving the lives of eleven other Spartans and, therefore, indirectly, millions of civilians."

"Nah," Potter said. "That'll never work. He'd last what, five seconds, before the Wraiths got him. We'd have another maybe three seconds before they found us and rewarded us with the same fate. Gonna send the rookie into certain death you gotta make sure _you_ get out of it alive."

"I'm not the rookie anymore, Potter," Vance reminded the big heavies expert. "That's Moreau."

"Uh-huh," Spartan Ashton Moreau grunted, with a sharp nod to punctuate his 'statement'.

"Yer too loud, Moreau" Holden said, grinning. "Might deafen us if yer not careful."

"Yeah, shut up a second, we might forget you're here," Ware piped up.

"All right, Fireteam Grimm, listen up! Spartan Vance is in charge from now until the operation is complete!" Cross barked, finally giving in.

"Formation! Gates, on point." Vance fell into position just behind Gates. "Cloaking! All members, hold your fire until my word. Are there any questions?"

"No, sir!"

"Good! Move… HUP!"

Gates moved casually, trying to look as much like an Elite as possible and hoping, as he did so, that none of the others slipped up and gave the game away. It was really only Moreau he wasn't sure of, but anyone could make a mistake. They might have been Spartans, but they were still human. Mistakes were a very human tendency.

"Greetings, sword-brother," he said, in fluent Sangheili, to a nearby Swordsmaster Elite. "May the blood of your enemies run in rivers from these cliffs!"

"And the heads of yours roll to fill the valleys of this land!" the Elite responded, completing the grisly greeting.

This was why nobody else could be point-man and play the highest-ranking Elite. The only member of Fireteam Grimm who could speak Sangheili well enough was Tony Gates.

_Nearly there,_ Vance thought, eyes locked onto the waypoint he had placed in his HUD. _Just another fifty metres… carefully now, Tony, carefully._ It didn't seem like much, not to a Spartan, but fifty metres could mean the difference between success and total failure. If this plan blew up, the deaths of an entire fireteam would be on Haydn Vance's head. He had a strong feeling he could get out alive if things went bad, but he couldn't get the _team_ out.

With each passing second the distance decreased, but Vance's nerves were on edge and getting more and more strained with every step he took.

Suddenly, just short of the marker, an Elite roared something from the other side of the battlefield.

"They're onto us!" Gates bellowed.

"Scatter! Hit those Wraiths!" Vance barked, bolting for his allocated target as he gave the order. He pulled a frag grenade from his belt and primed it, holding down the spoon with so much force Cross gently reminded him to relax.

Plasma splashed across his shields; he dodged far more than he didn't, but it still drained their power very quickly. The 'shields low' alarm started going off in his HUD, and then another bolt of plasma splashed across his field of vision and the 'shields down' alarm screeched in his ear. He swung up onto the Wraith and punched through a panel, then let go of the grenade, wrenched his hand free, and leapt off.

Moving at a dead sprint, Vance just ran, placing a waypoint a good distance away for a rendezvous point. Whoever survived would meet him there in short order. Whoever died would not. From there they could make their way to the pickup zone, and once aboard the Pelican and at minimum safe distance, he would trigger the explosives. Six SHIVA nukes would make very short work of the Storm Covenant base and probably most of the continent upon which it was situated.

Cross, Holden, Ware and Moreau came up level with him, all blowing hard, and fell into step. Vance nodded to each in turn, but otherwise paid them no mind. It was each Spartan for him- or herself, and screw teamwork. That could wait until they got to the rally point.

_-FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER-_

Haydn Vance leaned back against a tree, arms crossed, helmet off, surveying the Spartans who he had so far managed to gather. Spartan Ellen Cross, the leader of Fireteam Grimm, stood very close to him, well inside what would have been his personal space had he actually had any, and anger rolled off her in waves. Potter, Ware, Gates and Moreau were playing poker on a tree stump, and Holden was watching from a vantage point above, chuckling to himself. Vance assumed it was because he could see everyone's cards. Spartan Melinda Harper was sitting cross-legged just inside the Pelican.

They were only waiting on two more. Two had been confirmed dead – Spartan Karen Daly and Spartan Mack Davis – and eight were present.

"Where are they?" Cross demanded of Vance. "Where _are_ they?"

"If I knew, you would know," Vance replied calmly. "Look. Archer and Gomez are going to turn up within the next five minutes if they're going to turn up at all. If they can't have gotten here in twenty minutes, they can't have gotten away from those damned terrorist Storm-Covies. Fair's fair, I made no guarantees we would _all_ make it out alive."

"Eight of us is a darn sight more than were going to survive," Harper said philosophically. "I mean Vance's plan was mental, sure, but sitting there and waiting for them to kill us wasn't going to achieve anything."

"WHAT THE FUCK MAN!" Potter suddenly bellowed. "How do you _always_ get four of a kind? DAMN IT! You're a fucking cheat, Tony Gates!"

"Nope. Dead set, swear a fucking oath on my dear mamma's grave, I never cheated at anything." Gates was telling the truth, of course, but he still danced backwards out of Potter's reach. "You're just pissed 'cause you lost your month's supply of caramel fudge again. 'Cause you suck at reading people, and you suck at controlling your face."

"To be fair, Aaron, I'd have beat you if Tony hadn't," Ware said soothingly. "And Ashton would have beat you if I wouldn't have beat him."

"How come it's always Tony who wins? And always four of a kind? And _always_ aces?"

"I'm not a cheat!" Gates said again. "It's _your_ fucking deck!"

"Stow it," Cross growled. Everyone fell silent instantly; there was something in her tone that even Vance wouldn't argue with. "There – hear them?"

Vance nodded. Two sets of feet. MJOLNIR-booted feet. He was about to say they would call in at any moment when Gomez's voice came over the comms.

"This is Spartan Javier Gomez. Friendlies approaching. I'm with Spartan Marie Archer."

"Solid copy, Gomez. Come on home," Cross told them. She relaxed, her fury abating so much that Vance couldn't stop himself glancing at her to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep. Soon the two Spartans came into view. Vance quietly moved their names to the 'accounted-for' list, and then greeted them with a smile in the same moment the other seven Spartans gathered already ran two fingers across their faceplates in the traditional 'Spartan smile'.

He offered Gomez a fist-bump, which the Hispanic fellow met first by reciprocating and then by casually bumping shoulders with him. Vance nodded in satisfaction, and, everyone accounted for one way or another, the surviving ten members of Fireteam Grimm piled into the Pelican – except Harper, who was already onboard.

"Take us home," Cross told the pilot. "Notify us the moment we reach minimum safe distance and I'll have Vance activate the bombs."

Vance grinned, still sans-helmet. "Calling a SHIVA a bomb is like calling the _Infinity_ a yacht."

"You can say that again," Spartan Greg Holden said with a short laugh. "Hey, Potter."

"Yeah, what?"

"Next time you cheat… make sure you shuffle and deal to _your_ advantage."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks."

Vance smiled to himself and shook his head. As much as these guys argued, as much as they complained about each other, it was all in good fun. They never actually meant what they said. Until they were speaking to Vance, but that was ok. He preferred things that way. Always a little on the outer.

Spartan Haydn Vance might have been where he belonged, but he liked to _not_ belong, just a little bit. It meant he could maintain a little distance from his comrades and not be completely shattered whenever they lost someone. Daly and Davis were dead this time. Last time it was a sniper, Spartan Brandon Stuart, and the time before that it was someone Vance had gotten along with quite famously – Spartan Martha Slover, who had been his closest friend from his cadetship right through ODST training, through Spartan training, and right up until her death.

He kept his distance on purpose now. Martha still haunted him, two years later. Vance still strongly disliked her replacement, and wasn't sorry that Karen Daly was now dead. He wasn't a big fan of Moreau – Stuart's replacement – to begin with, but didn't mind the quiet half-French, half-English all-rounder so much now.

"Hey, Vance," Gomez said, shoving Ware out of the way to sit next to him. "You ok?"

"Yeah." Vance forced himself to smile at Javier. "Just thinking how I could have planned that better."

"Liar."

"Piss off." For once, Haydn didn't actually mean what he said. With a stab of panic he realized what that meant. He was starting to feel close to Javier Gomez. He was starting up the very thing he was trying to avoid. A friendship. He wasn't sure he could survive having another friend ripped away from him, so it was safer just to avoid getting close to people.

"Hayd. It's Martha, isn't it?"

"Maybe," he admitted.

"You know, none of us blame you. For that, or for Daly and fucking Mack Davis."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, Jav, I know. It doesn't matter. If I hadn't let her go…" Vance couldn't stop the brief flash of memory. Martha, falling, falling… falling forever, so long that nobody heard her hit the bottom of the shaft. No scream or anything, just a whispered goodbye that carried all the weight of her sacrifice and cut through Vance's heart like a knife, emphasizing everything he could have, should have, done…

"Oh for fuck's sake, Haydn Vance! 'If only' never brought anybody anything but pain."

Gomez had a point, but Vance needed someone to blame, and the only person he could possibly blame was himself. He just shook his head and put his helmet back on, signaling an end to the conversation. He had no idea whether or not Gomez tried to push the point, because he deliberately blocked out every other Spartan onboard.

* * *

**AN: So this is locked down in stone and you guys know to correct me if I screw it up, team rankings go as follows, and they are a twelve-man fireteam:**

**LEADER; Spartan Ellen Cross, F**

2IC; Spartan Haydn Vance, M

**THIRD; Spartan Aaron Potter, M**

**FOURTH; Spartan Taryn Ware, F [tuh-RIN]**

**FIFTH; Spartan Tony Gates, M**

**SIXTH; Spartan Karen Daly, F [dec]**

**SEVENTH; Spartan Javier Gomez, M [hah-VEE-air, or hahv {Jav} for short]**

**EIGHTH; Spartan Marie Archer, F**

**NINTH; Spartan Greg Holden, M**

**TENTH; Spartan Ashton Moreau, M**

**ELEVENTH; Spartan Mack Davis, M [dec]**

**TWELFTH; Spartan Melinda Harper, F**

**Pull me up on that if I make a mistake, okay? I'm dreadful like that... I mean look at AoD and how much I kept stuffing up team order in THAT to begin with! With half as many Spartans to keep track of. The dead ones will be replaced soon. They do have an unusual, somewhat unprofessional team dynamic, and argue a lot... Vance is the source of most of that, discord follows him wherever he goes! Even if he is not actively causing trouble, it always seems to follow him around. His luck is dreadful.**

**Next chapter, we can look forward to some John/Halsey conversation, which should hopefully entertain you guys. And Hayd isn't doing well, the sook.**

**Halo isn't mine, canon characters such as Halsey and John-117 aren't mine, all OCs and this storyline are.**


	3. Chapter 2: Denying Hope

_**TWO; DENYING HOPE.**_

"I don't understand, Doctor. His times are better than ever, his teamwork textbook. He never hesitates, has never in his life refused an order, is uninjured, and is performing at his peak."

"He's not right," Catherine Halsey said with a sigh. "I know you don't care about the emotional states of these Spartans, John, but that was the mistake I made with your generation. Not caring. I could have, and should have, taken better care of your minds. We would have more of you now, if I had. Now, I'm not saying you didn't do a good job of leading them – you did – but a few… incidents… would never have happened had I paid attention to your thoughts. Your _feelings_."

"Feelings are unnecessary distractions," John said gruffly, stifling his own as he did so. He should not still be grieving for Cortana. She had been gone for years. "All a Spartan needs is his intuition and his logic. Emotions are extraneous."

"Emotions are _human_, John."

"Exactly!" John was tempted to turn on his heel and leave, but he stifled the urge. "So why do we care if _Spartans_ are upset by an order? All that matters is that it gets followed."

Halsey sighed and shook her head. "Why must you be so stubborn? Have you already forgotten what Cortana taught you? You _are_ human. All that UNSC HIGHCOM cares about is that their orders are followed, but hasn't it occurred to you that Marines and ODSTs get shore leave? Stress leave? Constant support for PTSD and other mental illnesses? And what do Spartans get? Nothing!"

John flinched at Halsey's mention of Cortana. He still didn't understand quite why it felt like someone stabbed him in the heart whenever someone mentioned his former AI partner, but he did understand the anger that came next. If someone hurt him, he got mad. He always controlled that anger, but it was there. And he understood it, so he clung to it.

"That was below the belt," he hissed, through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, John. But now do you see my point? We need to look after these Spartans. I'm not sure if they're mentally healthier, or less healthy, because of their different upbringing… they haven't really been around long enough for me to gather much data… but that doesn't matter. I won't repeat my mistakes. Not that they're even my responsibility…"

"Command listens to you," John was quick to remind Halsey.

"As a consultant, and only because of my years of experience!"

For a moment John was confused at the angry outburst, then he pushed down his confusion, allowing himself the tiniest of shrugs, and turned back to the camera feed on the holoscreen that covered most of the far wall. "So. Spartan Haydn Vance."

"He lost someone dear to him a couple of years ago. Spartan Martha Slover. Remember her? She was his only friend. The only person he would allow close enough for friendship. He blames himself for her death. I've given Vance this long because grief, normal, healthy grief, usually lasts about two years."

"I remember Slover well," John said slowly, carefully controlling his tone to hide his distaste. "I always thought she was too emotional. Undisciplined, to some degree."

Halsey smiled, amused. "You just don't like her because she put you flat on your back on three separate occasions."

John couldn't deny it. He shrugged again. "I see why she and Vance were friendly. I see why Vance believes he is at fault for her death. I am even familiar with the pain he feels at her loss. I just don't understand why you want to reassign him."

"Three words for you, John. Spartan Javier Gomez."

"Gomez is an exceptional soldier," John protested, unable to comprehend the Latino being a problem.

"Gomez is dangerous for a man like Vance. He could be a bad influence. And Vance has more than proven himself for a special assignment. Of course I don't want to leave Fireteam Grimm another man down, but it won't take much of a re-shuffle to replace him. I happen to know there's another group of Fours coming through very soon."

"How," John wondered aloud, "is Gomez dangerous? His record is immaculate, he is disciplined, he is honest and he is reliable. I would be proud to have him at my back. Vance… not so much. Perhaps Gomez's 'influence' would not be such a bad thing."

Halsey sighed and shook her head. "I forget you've never had access to things like alcohol, tobacco, and other such substances. Gomez drinks to excess. Regularly. He can control himself when he's on duty but off-duty… I worry that he could lead Vance astray. In his current emotional state Vance is vulnerable. A lot of men turn to drinking to forget. Women, too, but more often men."

John looked at the floor. "If something could make me forget Cortana…"

"Exactly! Alcohol is extremely dangerous that way. It doesn't actually work, so people drink more and more, until they can't stand up, and can't remember what they did or how the hell they got the feathers up their ass."

John stared at Halsey, open-mouthed, in naked shock. He had never heard her speak like that.

"I can't believe you don't remember seeing what alcohol does to people," she said, before he could recover his composure.

"Doctor, the last time anyone I had contact with had anything to do with alcohol was a long time ago, during a time I try not to remember."

Halsey just shrugged and turned her attention back to the screen. The Spartan that the camera was concentrating on paused suddenly, so suddenly in fact that he almost overbalanced.

"What is he doing?" John growled. "If he was one of _my_ Spartans I would-."

"Shh!" Halsey hissed at him, somehow shooting him a death glare without her eyes leaving the camera feed.

_-MEANWHILE-_

Vance stopped in his tracks, losing his balance for a moment, and then upon regaining it, he froze completely.

"What is _wrong_ with you? MOVE IT!" Cross bellowed at him, shoving him out of the way when he didn't respond.

Swallowing hard, he tried to respond, but he couldn't force any sound past the lump in his throat. Vance just shrugged and forced his feet to move, his breath occasionally hitching. That simple deviation from the usual steady in-out-in-out puff proved exhausting, but he pushed through the breathlessness, trying to forget that for a second, he had caught Martha's scent. It was happening less and less often as time passed, but the effect her 'presence' had on him was no less now than it was the day of her death.

It was still crippling. The knife-through-the-heart agony of loss shredded him and left him bleeding, and it got harder and harder each time to pick up the pieces and keep going. But that was what he did. He kept on running, one foot and then the next, breath slowly returning to its usual rhythm but for the odd hitch here and there.

Through the rows of tires, up and over the wall, a long commando-crawl under razor wire that could tear him to ribbons at the slightest touch, and still he couldn't get away from Martha. She was gone but she wouldn't leave him alone. Even dashing across the balance beam, where a single wobble would result in a fifty-foot fall onto some pretty sharp rocks, Vance could not concentrate. He didn't struggle with the challenges the course threw at him, but he felt like he was just going through the motions.

"Come on, man, you're slowing us down," Javier complained as he ran past. "We're always fastest, and look at _you_ today! We'll be last across the line if you don't hurry up!"

By now Haydn was panting. He had lost his rhythm and therefore the smooth, steady in-out hitched and caught constantly, at the most inopportune moments. He nearly tripped over a hurdle and had to smash through the one after it, rather than even try to jump it, finally recovering in time to clear the last three of the line in somewhat awkward style.

With only three obstacles left – the sheer rock wall, the rope bridge, and the climbing rope – Vance finally ran out of puff. His stride faltered and he dropped from a fast run to a languishing jog. It was a cruel irony that when Martha finally left him alone, he could barely move, because his lungs were refusing to work. That just wasn't right.

He came to the rock wall and started climbing. His arms and legs could work quite well with very minimal oxygen in his system, for climbing and pulling and the sorts of activities that required anaerobic fitness, but he just couldn't run if he couldn't breathe properly. He sucked in fast, shallow breaths, feeling that lump in his throat growing.

"Great," he groaned to himself. "Panic attack."

Vance came to the top of the wall and set off running – or rather trying to run – again, but didn't even make the start of the bridge before he dropped the pretence and just half-stumbled onwards with the sort of dogged determination that only a Spartan could muster.

From the platform the climbing rope hung from, he could hear the rest of the team. All nine of them. They muttered about him, from Javier Gomez expressing concern to Holden's half-serious scathing remarks right the way to Cross wondering if she could rely on him in a fight. Finally, Haydn reached the rope and started up it. For the first time in his life, he was finding being a Spartan almost impossible. But he kept on going. He didn't know any other way of surviving.

_-MEANWHILE-_

"Doctor, what do you expect to be able to do for him?"

"I'm not sure, John, but something's wrong. Look at the rest of the team, they're all concerned. Gomez is this close," Halsey held her index finger and her thumb about an inch apart, "to climbing down and helping him. I've never seen him fail to finish the course before."

"He's still going."

"They have to run the whole way, or technically, it's a failure. If he wasn't so stubborn, he'd have passed out by now."

John knew he wasn't going to be able to talk sense into Halsey, so he simply blocked the doorway. He had sufficient bulk to do so, and more than enough strength to stop any normal human from getting through. "Remember what you kept telling me when I started helping train them, Doctor?"

"Don't get too involved."

"Exactly. We should let _them_ solve this. Whatever 'this' is." He watched, with a little concern, as Halsey's expression went from worried to briefly angry to worried again to surprised, then an odd expression that John could only identify as reluctant understanding.

"You paid attention," Halsey said, and John was floored – figuratively speaking – to realize there was _pride_ in her voice, in her expression, as well as what he managed to identify on his own.

"Of course I did," he said, confused. Even after these few years he'd had to get used to people as a whole, he still often found himself utterly at a loss as to what to do or say, and civilians – even familiar ones like Halsey – kept on surprising him. Of course he'd paid attention. That was his _job_. He wasn't sure why that was a point of pride for the Doctor. Or anyone.

Hell – even military people kept surprising him now. Things had changed a lot since John had really had an active role as a soldier; Requiem didn't really count. He _had_ been quite surprised to see Lasky there… he could remember so clearly the boy – still very much a boy, then – who he had rescued when the Covenant had attacked the Corbulo Academy. Lasky and two others had survived, the only three survivors from that _planet_, and John considered that much a victory. So many planets had been lost with no survivors at all.

"John?"

"Sorry, ma'am… apparently I'm getting old." He frowned, a little disturbed by the concept. "I find myself becoming quite… nostalgic."

Halsey laughed at him. "If you're getting old, I don't want to know what I would be considered. Ancient? Fossilized?"

John couldn't quite make himself respond with a realistic chuckle. For some reason laughter always sounded forced when it came out of his throat, no matter how he tried to make it sound real. No matter whether it even _was_ real. He found civilians quite amusing at times, yet it was better, with most of them, not to bother trying to show his amusement. They never thought it was genuine. Halsey was the sole exception. She knew and understood how foreign the concept of laughter truly was to him.

"You're trying too hard," she told him. "Just relax."

John glanced at the floor. When he was relaxed, he didn't express any kind of emotion. That came from far too many years of strict control of his face and body language. Only a Spartan could really truly read a Spartan. With a few exceptions, of course.

"I know that's easier said than done."

John just sighed. "You can say that again."

Despite the bored, slightly depressed exterior, he was actually quite pleased with himself. He had successfully distracted Catherine Halsey – not an easy task – and was now watching, in his peripheral vision, as the Spartan on the holoscreen made the top of the rope and was helped onto the platform by nine other Spartans.

He still wasn't sure that there was any need to reassign Spartan Haydn Vance. On the fireteam Vance would have peers to turn to for support. On his own, where Halsey wanted him for that special assignment, Vance was more vulnerable. John foresaw a breakdown, of sorts, but he wasn't sure if he was over-thinking things again or if this was really his instincts speaking.

Over-thinking… that was a Cortana trait. He examined a chip in the paint on the wall, pretending it was suddenly fascinating. Perhaps Halsey was right. Perhaps Cortana wasn't really gone.

* * *

**AN: Well, I'm pretty happy with this chapter :D**

**Apologies if John or Halsey seem a bit out of character, I'm bad at writing other people's characters. Much as he professes not to give a stuff about Fireteam Grimm, John is rather fond of them, despite their 'lack of discipline'. Vance in particular, though he refuses to admit it even to himself.**

**I also apologize in advance for any AU, I haven't read all the books [just Fall of Reach, The Flood, and Ghosts of Onyx]. So while I am using a few book-based characters, I may have them in the wrong place, or alive when they shouldn't be. I'm trying not to be AU with this one, but not having been able to play Spartan Ops [my gamer profile doesn't have Live] I don't actually know what goes on there, and can't unless I pinch my brother's profile to play through, which I expect he would not be overly impressed with. My understanding of the Storm-Covies is that they're a splinter group, still true to the word of the Prophets, whereas the rest of the Elites, Grunts etc etc are still allies... but I could be wrong.**

**Please correct me if I have made any mistakes, and review my grammar [which is not always perfect, I know!], and tell me off if anyone is out of character. John feels ****_very_**** chatty but then again he was very chatty right the way through H4 and especially up near the end. So that might be just his personality coming through despite his constant insistence that he is not actually as human as Halsey thinks he is, and how little he actually 'gets' the way people think.**

**Reviews please!**

**As per usual all canon characters and concepts belong to 343 Industries, and all original characters and this story belong to me.**


	4. Chapter 3: I Can Hear Your Smile

_**THREE; I CAN HEAR YOUR SMILE.**_

"Come with me."

Vance didn't move for a moment, still in awe of the Spartan who was the whole reason he had even wanted to join up. When the Master Chief looked like he was about to get annoyed, though, Spartan Vance finally nodded his agreement and followed.

"I have been ordered to bring you to a very important person. She is technically a civilian, but I will not stand for any disrespect. Do you hear?"

"Yes, sir," Vance said. Though he now technically outranked the Chief, he knew he would never be the older man's equal. Ever. SPARTAN-117's deeds were legendary.

"Good. Without her, the Spartan Program would never have been started, much less completed. I would not exist, and you would not exist. We would have lost the war against the Covenant in very short order – _humanity _would therefore not exist. This woman has single-handedly, albeit indirectly, saved the entire human race. She is not a person you ever tell no."

"Yes, sir." Vance thought he knew who it was he was being taken to see, but he wasn't going to form any expectations.

"She will have an assignment for you, which you will accept, regardless of what you may think on the matter."

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

The Chief stopped outside a door. Vance thought it would be a good idea to do the same, and when the sound of his boots against the floor faded away into silence, the Master Chief rapped sharply on said-same door.

"Enter," a female voice said from the other side. An older woman, not exactly elderly but not young either. Consistent with what Haydn expected, if he was right.

The Chief tilted his head towards the door, a clear and overt signal to get the hell through before someone had to get rough. Vance glanced at his boots briefly, nervous, and then did as he was told. As he had come to expect, the door slid open at a light touch in the right place, and he stepped through.

"Spartan Haydn Vance reporting as ordered, ma'am," he barked, snapping a smart salute.

"At ease, Spartan Vance." The woman spoke with a kind of familiarity that already had Haydn feeling like he had known her his entire life. Perhaps he had.

"Doctor Halsey," he stated.

"Indeed. I am surprised you know who I am by sight. We have never met, and I lead a fairly private life." Halsey smiled at him, a familiar smile. "Sit, sit. Tea?"

"Um." Haydn preferred coffee, but if it wasn't offered, he didn't like to ask. "Please."

"Haydn – do you mind if I call you Haydn? – I'm sure you already know I have an assignment for you." Halsey spoke and poured tea at the same time, a knowing look on her face. Haydn had the distinct impression she knew he wanted coffee, though _how_ she knew, he had no idea.

"Not at all, ma'am, not at all. I do know, yes."

"Please. Catherine."

"Catherine, then." Vance hadn't actually known Halsey's first name until just then. Somehow he wasn't surprised. It suited her. It suited her in a more subtle way than Spartan Ellen Cross's name suited _her_ – Cross was a cranky, bitchy type, naturally, and had to work to rein that in – but Halsey was definitely a Catherine all the same. Any other name simply would not suit her.

"I'm sure you're curious about your new assignment, but first I must beg you to humor me a while. How do you like your tea?"

"Uhhh. I don't normally drink tea. Cream, no sugar, I guess?" Haydn wasn't really sure what to make of tea in and of itself, and much less that Halsey had offered it to him and 'removed' the option of coffee. It felt like some sort of test.

"A creature of habit, I see. You like your coffee white with no sugar."

It _was_ a test. Haydn smiled to himself, just a small smile, a secret smile. He was quite quickly becoming comfortable around Halsey. "I suppose I am. I'd wager you already know more about me than I do about myself."

Halsey smiled, showing a row of surprisingly perfect, bright white teeth. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. There are a lot of things I don't know about you."

Vance had no idea what this was all about, and just wanted to be given his assignment. While Catherine Halsey wasn't so bad, she was a civilian, and he was supposed to be taking orders from her. It would be easier to do that if she didn't seem so _civilian_. "Like what?"

He wasn't so sure asking that was a great idea, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

"Like, do you sleep on your side, your back, or your front? Do you prefer the top or bottom bunk? Closest to or farthest from the door, or somewhere in between? Is the first thing you do in the morning to brew coffee, or do you eat first? Do you shower in under two minutes as per regulations, or do you bend the rules a little bit? It's amazing how much that information can tell you about a person and how they're likely to react."

"People are creatures of habit, and entirely predictable," Haydn agreed. "Just a matter of knowing a few little details."

"People are fascinating. I can't tell you how many times I've been surprised by Spartans, but I have never yet met a 'normal' human who surprises me. I'm still not quite sure what to make of your generation, you know. You're somewhere between what I'm used to… and normal. My Twos don't show emotion and do their best not to feel it. You've met the Master Chief. He is pretty much that trait incarnate. But _you_ – you are professional, but sensitive and understanding of civilians at the same time. Your generation understands people. My Twos don't realize how hard they try _not_ to."

"Twos, plural? There are more of them?"

"More than just the one most people know as 117, Master Chief, et cetera et cetera? Of course. Thirty-three of them made it to combat deployment. There were of course more in the beginning. My, you _are_ perceptive."

"And now?"

"The Master Chief is the only one still considered to be in 'active duty'. I have full knowledge on the location of two others, and Gray Team is floating in space somewhere, aboard the _Spirit of Fire_. I have it on good authority that they are alive. Frozen, but alive."

"With respect, Catherine," Vance said, the name feeling odd in his mouth after being conditioned to call people he respected 'sir' or 'ma'am', "I don't see what this has to do with any assignment…"

"Everything and nothing, Haydn. Everything and nothing. When you understand what I mean by that, you will understand. Now, to business. Firstly, thank you for humoring me. You will find what you learned today most useful in the future."

"Yes, ma'am." Vance stopped himself a moment too late, then cracked a mock-guilty smile.

"I feel like I'm a thousand years old when you call me that," Halsey said good-naturedly. "Most military people call me Doctor, if you'd rather that to my name."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Your assignment… I hope the Chief warned you. You may not like this. I want you, and only you, to accompany me to a planet we never officially colonized. This planet is known as Haven. You have been there."

"Yes, ma'am. It was glassed in 2548, but the underground infrastructure is and was so deep and so extensive that many people survived the glassing and they have been living underground ever since."

"It is also where Spartan Martha Slover fell several miles to her death. I need to explore that specific chute in detail. I know she was your friend… can you handle it?"

"Yes, Doctor. I always carry out my orders." Vance wasn't sure if he would be able to do this, but the Chief had said there was no refusing Halsey, and the last thing he wanted was to be forced to go on leave.

"It's not the orders I'm worried about," Halsey told him.

_-MEANWHILE-_

John had six Marines – all of them large and muscular – hanging off his legs. The hangar truss cum chinup bar was groaning under the weight.

"Ninety-eight… ninety-nine… one hundred," he puffed. He was unfit, compared to his best. He could do better than this.

"All right, everybody off!" one Marine barked, and they all let go at once. That was actually more of a slip risk to John's fingers than the weight of all of them plus himself, but he stayed hanging off the bar for a moment longer before dropping to the ground, knees bent to absorb the impact, small though it was. From a crouched position he dropped to lie flat on his stomach on the floor, then got his left hand in underneath him. He reached behind his back with his right hand and grabbed a fistful of his own shirt, and started doing one-handed pushups. Two Marines came over to sit on his back and a third soon joined them, sitting on his legs.

"Thanks again," John said, his voice a bit gruffer than usual from the exertion. Damn it, but he was so unfit.

"No problem, buddy. Always happy to help," the heaviest one – a three-hundred-and-some pound, six-foot-eight, bodybuilder type Sergeant – said cheerfully.

"Can't believe you haven't broken a sweat yet," one of the men sitting watching him commented. "I'd be drenched if I even tried to do that much time on a treadmill… Much less the strength stuff."

John puffed out a short laugh. "I'm a Spartan. I'm actually – really unfit – compared to my best."

"No you're not," the Sergeant said. "You're not breathing properly, is all. All the top of your chest, no diaphragm. So you get out of breath faster."

With a genuine, though subtle, jolt of surprise, John realized the man was right. He had picked up some bad habits over the years. The relief he felt at the fact that he wasn't just slowing down was ridiculous. He really wasn't that old. Not with cryo-time considered. He concentrated on taking some deeper breaths, using his whole lung capacity, expanding his whole chest, and immediately felt like he could sprint a marathon on top of what he had already done.

"Thanks," he grunted, switching hands more because he had completed the amount of repetition he allotted for his daily workout than because his arm was getting tired. "Worked like a charm."

"Even us old farts need a bit of a reminder to breathe now and then," the Sarge said, laughing. "Need to get you some proper weights, huh?"

"And a tougher treadmill. That one will probably only last another week." John cracked a rare smile. "A sparring partner would be nice, too, but I think that's too much to ask."

"You'd kill one of us," a Private commented. "What about one of them younger Spartans? The Fours?"

John shrugged with the one shoulder he didn't have weight on. "Their team leaders have control of their workouts. I _have_ asked. I'm hoping Doctor Halsey clears one of the two other Spartans from my generation we have here. Soon."

He had briefly spoken with Kelly and Linda since discovering they were both alive and onboard the _Infinity_, but the only 'spare' hours he had that he didn't fill with eating and sleeping and showering and important things like that, he filled with these workouts. That didn't leave much time over for idle chatter with old friends. John would not get to properly catch up with his sisters in arms until after they both were cleared to return to a full training load. If that ever happened. Halsey was being incredibly paranoid with the both of them.

John had to assume something big had gone down without him. Oddly, he felt a brief pang of jealousy, before he reminded himself that something _huge_ had gone down without Kelly or Linda. Two Halo rings, the Flood, a Gravemind, the Ark, the end of one war, the start of another, alliances made and tested… he had been there for all of that. He had in fact been instrumental in much of it.

He just wasn't used to being left out of things.

John sighed and pulled himself out of his thoughts, completing his pushups and gently dumping the Marines onto the floor before moving onto one of the gym machines. He would have to do literally _thousands_ of situps to work his abdominal muscles sufficiently without these machines. He double checked that they were all laden with the maximum weights load and then got into position on the machine he wanted to use. Again, unbidden, a pair of Marines added their weight to the mix, taking the total weight to nearly nine hundred pounds. This was roughly equivalent to working in almost triple Earth gravity… unfortunately he wasn't allowed in the hypergravity chamber until he could provide the right people with the right plans and reasonings and with only one of him, he couldn't do that.

"Master Chief?" Spartan Ellen Cross was in full armor, and shoved one of the Marines out the way, adding her own weight – plus armor weight – and effectively stopping John's workout until she got off. He hadn't warmed up enough for that much weight yet, and would pull something if he was stupid about it.

"You're looking for Spartan Haydn Vance," John said.

"Yes."

"I can't help you. I delivered him to Doctor Halsey, and was dismissed. They should be finished by now, and I guarantee the Doctor will not tell you what she wanted of him, so don't bother."

"The team needs him."

"Tough." John wasn't normally such an ass about team relations, but Cross was in the way, and he didn't like it when people interrupted his workouts. Especially people like Cross who had nothing better to do than be annoying. "Like I said, I can't help you. Vance has orders, which I am not privy to, and even if I was, it wouldn't be my place to share them."

Cross huffed an irritated sigh and got off the weights. The Marine she had displaced reclaimed his spot and John went back to his workout, completely ignoring the younger Spartan until she went away.

_-MEANWHILE-_

"I know Cross is looking for me." Vance sighed. "I have orders."

"I know that," the Marine said, nothing but sympathy in his voice and body language despite a determinedly blank expression on his face. "But she sort of has a way of shooting the messenger… you know her, you know what I mean."

Haydn stopped packing supplies and turned to face the Marine. "I really am sorry. But there's no refusing Halsey. I had that made more than clear to me before I was given my orders."

"Ok then, but if you hear of a brutal murder… be guilty."

Barking out a laugh, he went back to work. Cross might have been a bit of a bitch at times, but she wasn't violent. Not with allies, at least.

This kind of menial physical work was boring, but it took his mind off Martha, so Haydn welcomed it, throwing himself into the task with gusto. Unfortunately that meant that the work would be finished soon, but on the other hand, the sooner it was done, the sooner Halsey would get him off the _Infinity_ and doing something more useful with himself than training, training, and more training.

Vance was combat fit and more than ready, but the team hadn't been sent out in a while. Not since Operation Eye of the Storm. A few other teams had – Crimson, Majestic, even Gallant – but not Grimm. Cross liked to say that meant HIGHCOM had nothing fitting for those of the highest caliber, implying that no team could hold a candle to Grimm. Holden was probably more accurate in saying that it was a matter of having _any_ missions befitting Spartans. Perhaps most accurately, Ware was convinced it was due to Vance's less-than-perfect scores on training exercises lately. He was dragging down the whole team.

This mission would do him good… even if it did re-open the wounds. Sometimes an old wound needed to be opened and scrubbed before it could heal properly. Or at least, so Martha used to say.

"Damn it, stop thinking about her," he growled to himself, slamming down a crate full of Warthog parts just in case there was someone nearby.

He wasn't naïve enough to think that this mission wasn't a test. It absolutely was. Halsey could _read_ Spartans, but she couldn't hide from them. Haydn Vance knew that the Doctor was concerned about his mental health. That was why she had chosen him in particular over someone who was consistently scoring well. And him in particular, because this would be a far bigger test for _him_ than it would for anyone else.

Vance put the last crate into its place, then moved about the Pelican, securing everything. Some of the crates only needed to be clipped into place, others needed to be tied. He tied those with knots that would not accidentally come undone under any circumstance, but could not physically be over-tightened. They were not easy knots to tie and the only people who bothered to even try were Spartans – there was no mistaking who had packed this Pelican.

He thumbed the comm unit in his right ear, knowing it would connect directly to Halsey unless he specifically tuned it to one of the other frequencies. "Doctor Halsey, this is Spartan Vance. The supplies are packed and ready."

"Confirmed, Vance. I'm on my way."

"Yes, ma'am." Vance pulled the comm unit free from his ear and slipped it into the tactical hardcase on his left thigh, then fetched his helmet from where he had left it to 'claim' a seat. He had where he liked to sit and through force of habit, always marked 'his' seat on the Pelican using his helmet. Even if he was only sharing with one, maybe two people, he still marked his seat.

Putting on his helmet, he settled in to wait. Depending on where exactly Halsey was onboard the _Infinity_, he could be waiting anywhere from five minutes to half an hour.

* * *

**AN: If anyone's getting bored with the lack of combat, let me know... I'm having way too much fun exploring how John fits in on the ****_UNSC Infinity_**** and Vance's internal voice is fascinating to me.**

**As always if you see a continuity error, spelling error, grammar mistake etc let me know. Please review!**

**Halo, canon characters and canon concepts belong to 343 Industries. OC's and this story are mine.**


	5. Chapter 4: Lotta People Underground

**_FOUR; LOTTA PEOPLE UNDERGROUND._**

Haven wasn't much more than a blackened ball of glass, from orbit. It was still re-gathering atmosphere from its glassing in 2548. It was the cities and highways beneath the surface that were truly amazing.

John walked at Halsey's left side, and the Four-series the Doctor had chosen was on her other side. John wasn't sure whether he could rely on Spartan Vance after what he had seen in Halsey's office on the _Infinity_. Vance was a good soldier, but he let his emotions get the better of him too much. John didn't like the idea that at any moment, he might find himself Halsey's only useful bodyguard.

Vance seemed ok, for now, and was staring about in wonder. John would have reprimanded one of _his_ Spartans, but he had come to expect different things from the Fours. He expected any Spartan to be observant enough to notice anything awry even if distracted, but he expected it _more_ from a Four.

Besides… this city _was_ impressive. It had a kind of beauty that had nothing to do with the harsh, almost ugly architecture of the buildings and streets and everything to do with the resilience and persistence of the people who lived in it. Many of the residences were luxurious and most of the people they passed were dressed opulently. John was familiar with the history of the underground cities – once the ugly, violent underbelly of a proud surface society – and was not surprised that most of the residents were wealthy. Those who had survived the glassing were either already residents of the underground, thus gang members, or had managed to pay their way into the tunnels, thus surface-dwellers of considerable wealth.

He kept an especially sharp eye on a small group of large, muscular men. They had the look of troublemakers about them despite their sharp attire and classy collective demeanor. One of them shifted his weight and John spotted the faint shape of a very well concealed pistol. He quickly informed both Halsey and Vance of the potential threat with a subtle tilt of his head and the twitch of a finger.

"Razorwire men," Halsey said. "They're on the wrong turf. If Glass Storm sees them, there _will_ be a shootout. Mark my words, this is about to get bloody."

"I thought Razorwire and Glass Storm had a ceasefire?" Vance asked. John glanced at him in surprise. Either the Fours were more familiar with current events than they were supposed to be, or Vance had a connection to this place beyond it having been where Spartan Slover had died. John had a strong feeling that it was the latter.

"They did," Halsey said, completely ignoring John's rare gesture of surprise. "The deal was that Razorwire and Glass Storm stayed off one another's turf and they would stop killing each other and concentrate on the other gangs. Now there's Razorwires on Glass Storm territory. The ceasefire is broken. I can't say I'm surprised – except to say that I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did. Five years is a long time in a gang war."

"Long as the Leads don't weigh in." Vance shrugged. "Razors and Storms fighting each other won't last long, they're not big enough, but if Lead to Blood back up Razorwire, PlasmaScar will help Glass Storm out, and then we'll have all out war again. Right now the gang war is hidden, beneath the surface, and the civvies don't know it's going on, but if things go south, we'll have random people murdered to 'make a point'. Then the civvies will turn to us for help getting the gangs back under control."

"Something we can't afford," Halsey said, voicing what was plain on Vance's face. "With the Storm Covenant still gaining momentum we need as many soldiers fighting _that_ war as we can manage. We don't have the men to spend on solving Haven's problems."

_The sooner we get off this hunk of junk, the better,_ John thought. As if it wasn't irritating enough that the Pelican wouldn't fit through the passage to get to the shaft Halsey wanted to 'explore', and they had to wait for three more days for transport. If the gangs got openly violent, Halsey was in danger, and that would make his job that much harder. Two Spartans simply were not enough to defend her in the middle of an overt gang war. Even if the gangs didn't put out a hit on the Doctor. A bullet was just as lethal whether it hit its intended target, or someone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And then there was the somewhat frightening feeling he had that Vance had a deeper familiarity with the gangs than he was letting on. John wasn't sure if his issue with the younger Spartan was to do with the fact that he found it difficult to let people close enough to gain his trust, or actually a well-founded doubt. He wasn't used to not knowing whether to even trust himself. It bothered him deeply.

"Master Chief, would you care to weigh in on the conversation?" Halsey asked him. John appreciated the effort she was making to keep his name private. The knowledge of his name was a privilege he did not allow many people. The Arbiter, Thel 'Vadam, knew, and the last of his Spartans knew, and he had told Cortana, and Halsey knew, but that was it.

"I have too little experience with these gangs," he eventually said. "I cannot say I can predict what will happen. It would be best for us to be done here as soon as possible."

"Agreed," Halsey replied, with a knowing smile. She knew why he was reluctant to converse with anybody, especially in public. John wasn't sure why that bothered him.

Vance wished the Master Chief would be a little less reclusive. It was easier to read the older Spartan if his face was visible, which was only possible if the man would remove his helmet – which he didn't do often. It wasn't that Haydn Vance didn't trust the Chief; he did. It was just that he would prefer to be able to guess at what his allies were thinking. Easy with Halsey, but impossible with the Chief.

"Eh, it's Vancey," one of the Razors said. "So what we heard was true, eh mate? Ya made it."

Haydn smiled at the young gangster, a genuine friendly smile that he knew would have the Master Chief instantly suspicious. "Made it alright. So did Martha – did you hear what happened? It was less than a klick from here…"

"No, what happened to my big sister?"

"It was here on Haven," Vance said, then paused, swallowed the lump in his throat, and continued, "when the Storm Covenant attacked. We were sent here to help repel them. Fireteam Grimm. The team I was assigned to, the team Martha was assigned to. We ran into trouble at the edge of one of the deep shafts."

"Not Abyssal? Please tell me it wasn't Abyssal!"

Vance glanced at the sidewalk beneath his boots. "It was. We got ourselves backed into the tunnel that connects to it, on this level, and then we had to keep on falling back until there was nowhere else to fall back _to_. So the team leader Spartan Cross ordered us to hide in the only place there was to hide, in the hopes that the enemy would think we had fallen down the shaft to our deaths… we slipped off the edge, but there were twelve of us and not enough solid handholds so we ended up with Cross hanging onto the strongest handhold and then each of us connected at the wrists hanging below her… and the handhold started to give way."

"Abyssal Chute is miles deep! How did anyone survive?"

Haydn was aware of the Chief's eyes locked onto his face, and knew that no matter how hard he tried to hide it, the older Spartan would know his every thought. He sighed, looked at his boots, and swallowed again. "Martha… let go. I tried to hang onto her but she slipped right out of my grasp. It was just enough that the handhold held, and the enemy never found us either."

Owen Slover closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clearly fighting back tears. "Then she… she sacrificed herself. That's so Martha. Ma and Pa will be shattered, of course, but we're so proud of her... Eh, listen, if y'ever want the word on what's going on with the gangs… talk to me… I owe you."

"Yeah, sure thing, buddy. Can't believe they didn't tell you guys she was gone." Vance was quite disappointed in the UNSC for that oversight. The Slover family was proud of Martha, always had been, always would be, and deserved to know what she had sacrificed. And what Vance had failed to do to save her.

"Ye're the first UNSC _anything_ anyone on Haven's seen in years, mate. Eh, I gotta go, got work to do… drop by the Razors clubhouse if y'get a spare minute, wontcha?"

"Will do, Ow." Vance paused, watching his friend leave, then turned to Halsey. "Owen's an old friend… our fathers were the founding members of Razorwire. Ow followed in his father's footsteps. Martha and I decided there was more to life than joining a gang, but I still have contacts."

"Good," Halsey said. "Use them."

"Yes, ma'am," Haydn responded automatically. He glanced at the sidewalk again. "The Storms don't like me much… had I joined a gang it would have been the Razors, by right of birth. But they won't be a threat, they're too small to be able to survive a UNSC crackdown and too smart to risk it. The Leads and the Plasmas are like small private armies and have a huge covert membership, and they hate any kind of authority, so we should try to stay off their turf if we can. They're strong, and they've gotten arrogant with that power."

"Will they harm Doctor Halsey?" John asked, a faint note of personal concern in his voice. Vance forgot too often that Halsey was almost like a mother to the Twos. Her role in their creation was so significant that they considered her a family member.

"If they get the chance, possibly. Best not to risk it. I don't like spending too much time on Storms turf either, but they won't be dangerous. It just won't be a comfortable encounter if we run into them." Vance unconsciously and subtly touched the pistol at his hip, a weapon so heavily modified it no longer qualified as an M6D. It wasn't loaded but John expected it would take an extended clip, given that it could be used fully automatic, semi-automatic, or for burst fire. It also had a non-standard extended barrel. It barely qualified as a pistol.

John's own pistol was standard issue with a standard 2x scope and a twelve-round clip. And it was loaded, but then, it had a safety catch, which was at that moment on. Vance had, illegally, removed the safety on his weapon.

"Who controls the shaft?" he asked, after a brief silence.

"Nobody," Halsey and Vance replied in unison. Vance elaborated. "Abyssal Chute has always been no-man's-land. It and the tunnels that connect to it are supposed to be haunted, and the gangs are so superstitious they won't go anywhere near the place."

John didn't really understand the fuss people made about ghosts. They didn't exist in the first place, but even if they had been real, he doubted they would have been actually dangerous. Every 'haunted' place he had ever been had turned out to have perfectly sane explanations for the supposed haunting. And Haven was a Forerunner shield world – not that the people who lived there knew that – so a 'haunting' could actually be Sentinels. Or possibly a Monitor.

Plenty of perfectly sane explanations.

_So why do I have this odd sense of foreboding, like something bad will happen? Trust that feeling, Mendez always used to say… trust it._

"Doctor," he said carefully, "are you sure it's a good idea to go down that shaft?"

"Good idea or not, I need that data." Halsey shot him a sharp look, but John didn't back down.

"All I'm saying is I would like to have a little more backup." _That's right, dig yourself even deeper…_ "Always better to have too many men than not enough."

"Where's this coming from, J- Master Chief?"

"I have a bad feeling about this mission," he finally admitted, unsure why it was so difficult for him to say as much. It was a statement of fact, and Halsey would be receptive.

Much to John's chagrin, Halsey laughed. "Don't tell me you're buying into that ghost nonsense!"

"Ghosts don't exist," he growled. "Sentinels _do_. Never trust a Sentinel. Or a Monitor. That never ends well."

"I saw one of the so-called ghosts once," Vance said quietly, so quietly that for a moment John wasn't sure he had actually spoken. "That shaft is so dark, you can't see anything inside it. Not even with night vision. But if you stick around long enough you'll see lights. Most of the time they're blue, but I've seen white, yellow, and red, too. Up and down the shaft like they're on a mission. The lights are all you can see but they don't seem like ghosts to me… they seem like machines."

"Sentinels," John hissed, his right hand moving to hover near his pistol.

"Whatever they are, they aren't hostile. I used to spend hours at a time near Abyssal Chute. I'm still alive."

Halsey nodded. "The 'ghosts' of the shaft and surrounding tunnels have never been observed to be hostile. The stories I've heard make me think more of Sentinels than spirits, but these ones seem quite content to have humans living inside their installation. Spark was not operating correctly, and you didn't exactly give him much reason to like you."

John frowned deeply, glad for his faceplate. "_He_ didn't give _me_ much reason to like _him_."

"That's true too. And on Requiem, unless you lied to me, you weren't attacked by the Sentinels you saw there."

"No…" John admitted, seeing where this was going. Halsey was nothing if not predictable.

"Have you _ever_ been attacked by a Sentinel except on the word of a Monitor?"

"No. But there's no guarantee that there isn't a Monitor on Haven directing those Sentinels."

Halsey smiled. It was a smug expression and John didn't like it. "I have seen footage that proves there _was_ a Monitor on this planet, and it has been destroyed."

"Helmet footage?" John was instantly curious. "Who?"

"You don't know them," Halsey said, her tone cautious. That just made John even more curious.

"A Spartan?"

"Not one you know…"

She was so easy to read. John could see in her eyes, from her subtle tells, that the footage was filmed in 2538, which meant that if it was a Spartan, it _had_ to be someone he knew. Except she wasn't lying. "Who was deployed here when that footage was taken, Doctor?"

Halsey shot him a look. It was the look that said 'not here'. Behind it was the look she was trying to hide – 'I'm not allowed to tell you'. John let himself shrug and wrote it off. No use worrying about details he wasn't allowed to know.

"We're in Razors territory now," Vance said. "The map is wrong, by the way. The big building marked 'science center' doesn't exist. It burned the year before I joined the UNSC, and Razorwire demolished what was left. I don't know what they built there, if anything."

"Probably a clubhouse," Halsey surmised.

"No, they don't meet at any specific place. If they did they'd be too vulnerable to PlasmaScar attack. The Plasmas pay no attention to the ceasefires of small gangs, and believe in destroying the competition no matter the size."

"Then why haven't they destroyed Glass Storm?" John wondered.

"They're in the process. They destroy by assimilation nearly as often as they destroy by elimination."

Halsey glanced at her tablet. "You're more familiar with this area than I am, Vance. What's our best route to the garage?"

"Take a left at the next junction, then the second right. There's an alley we can duck down. It's not very well lit and I would not advise anybody go near it alone, because there's a lot of non-gang crime in that neighborhood, but you have Spartans as your bodyguards, and one of them is the son of a prominent Razor. Nobody will touch us." Vance seemed confident enough, but John couldn't shake that feeling that something was going to go wrong here on Haven. He wasn't completely sure what or when but something would go wrong.

"Master Chief, your thoughts?"

"It _is_ the most direct route," he hedged. "And Spartan Vance is familiar with the area. All the same I advise caution."

"Then it's settled," Halsey said. "We take Vance's route, but carefully."

_Fantastic,_ John thought. _Now I have to trust _him_. What I wouldn't give to have just one of _my_ Spartans at my back…_

* * *

**AN: a little more detail about Vance's childhood for you. The upcoming drama is quite predictable I think but inevitable given Vance's luck.**

**I have had some lovely reviews, which I greatly appreciate, and a big shoutout to KimJel for being awesome! This turns out to be a lot more AU than I originally intended for it to be so I decided it can be in the same AU as my other stories, hopefully the things I have changed added or invented make sense with Legacy as a standalone but if not let me know and I'll point you to the stories I have that explain it more in-depth. Yes, Haven is a planet of my own invention, as are the gangs and the resultant gang warfare.**

**So this chapter feels very much Chief-centric with only a little bit of Vance. I blame that on the fact that I understand John better. Note that John's quite animated when it's just him and Halsey, but very quiet and reserved when Vance is about. That is important.**

**As always please review, and remember that I only own my OCs and this story.**


	6. Chapter 5: That Gangsta Life

**_FIVE; THAT GANGSTA LIFE_**

Vance led the way through the alley, with Halsey just behind him, and the Master Chief bringing up the rear. He was sorely tempted to load his pistol and level it, but controlled the urge, just in case he ran into a Storm or a Plasma. That wasn't a common occurrence in Razor territory but it did happen, and if he had his weapons free, they would attack. Storms and Plasmas had no fear.

All of a sudden, one of the gang-affiliated young men in the alley pushed off the wall he was leaning on and bolted for the end Vance and his allies were headed towards. At no apparent signal another one followed. Both were Razorwires – they had the distinctive gang tattoos on their cheekbones. That in and of itself was unusual. Razors did not move fast on their own territory unless something big was going down.

Six loud single shots rang out, with a brief pause between each of them. Vance identified the weapon as a 12 gauge pump action shotgun and the shells as buckshot in less time than it took him to hit the deck. The Chief followed just an instant behind and last, though not by much, was Halsey, who was down before the second shot.

"Wow," Vance commented. "In broad daylight. Probably a Lead to Blood hit, based on the weapon, but the gangs love to use the 'wrong' weapon now and then, to try to pin the blame on someone else. My father once executed a hit with a stolen combat knife, because the Razors wanted to bring the law down on a streeter who was trying to muscle in on their contracts. Razorwire normally uses machine pistols."

"Streeter is slang for a non-gang assassin," Halsey explained to a very confused Master Chief. "We should keep moving."

"I would rather stay in cover until the situation passes," the Chief grumbled. "A stray shot is just as lethal as one that hits its target."

Haydn shook his head. "Lying low is the _last _thing we want to do right now. If that _was_ the Leads, we have nothing to worry about. They've been Razorwire's allies for decades. I'm a Vance, so they won't harm me or anybody I'm with. If it _wasn't_ the Leads, then whoever it is will be looking for people who are trying to hide. As will the group whose members just bit the dust. If we aren't gone by the time this _really_ erupts, then we can reassess. Easy enough to hide down the shaft. Like I mentioned earlier, the gangs won't go near it."

As he spoke, he got to his feet, motioning to Halsey and the Chief to do the same. He paused to check that they were following, and then continued on like nothing had happened. That was not an easy pretense to keep up, given that he was intensely curious as to what had just happened, and all his training for the past few years told him to be nervous if someone was shooting and he didn't know where or who they were.

Regardless of who had done it, it was brazen.

"Why," the Chief eventually asked, "does your family name have anything to do with anything?"

"My father's one of the highest-ranked members of Razorwire, remember? The Vance family has been infamous for a very long time… even before we split off, with the Slover family and the Emerson family, to form Razorwire. There are still Vances high up in the Lead to Blood hierarchy. We look after our own." Vance expected that would not go down well. The Chief seemed very suspicious of anyone in a gang. That wasn't really fair… they weren't _all_ bad. Owen had joined Razorwire because that was what was expected – he was his father's eldest son – but didn't really believe in the more criminal aspects of the organization. Haydn had an older brother, and so he had been given a choice.

"How did you pass screening?"

"I'm clean. I've never broken the law… not once in my life. I fell in with the 'wrong' crowd, in my father's eyes, and was never really subjected to that criminal influence. Da never paid me much attention. He was too busy with Devan. My brother. And Ma loved Da, but not the gang, and certainly not the crime." It wasn't strictly true that Vance had never broken the law. He hadn't been _caught_ breaking the law. But his one crime was minor and wouldn't have gone on his record anyway, not considering how many high-ranking cops Razorwire counted among its number. Possession of illegally modified firearms. Dev had forced it on him.

"You're lying," the Chief growled.

"My brother threatened a world of pain if I didn't hang onto his gun for him. Haven has very little gun control… the only thing that's illegal here is anything that can fire anything explosive. Dev's pistol was modified to take Hi-Ex rounds. That law isn't enforced very strictly, and I didn't even know it _was_ a law until after the fact. I wasn't caught, and even had I been, it wouldn't have gone on my record."

Halsey let out a soft chuckle. Vance glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry, I just find that amusing. You were strong enough to make it through your training and augmentation, and yet your brother clearly terrifies you," she said, smiling.

"You don't know Devan," Vance replied. "Augmentation is nothing on what he does to people who piss him off. If he ever gets leadership of Razorwire, mark my words, within five years there'll be _three_ major gangs. He already has a lot of power."

Vance was painfully aware of the Chief staring at him. Augmentation was the most pain any Spartan could possibly imagine, short of being tortured by the Covenant, and it was impossible to fathom anything done by one human being possibly inflicting more pain on a person. Devan was capable of that and more.

More gang members bolted past. Vance quickly identified each of them from their gang tattoos. A couple of Plasmas ran past without casting a second glance at him, which he thought surprising. PlasmaScar's hatred of Razorwire was almost as intense as their hatred of Lead to Blood, and anything that could harm Razorwire was more important than some random hit.

"Should we follow the gangs' lead?" Halsey asked, eyeing the gangsters nervously.

"No, that would imply we are with a gang, and if they got that impression… things would end badly." Vance was surprised that Halsey was turning to him for guidance. She was nearly as familiar with the gangs as he was. Gangland etiquette was simple. Don't annoy the wrong people and keep your nose out of gang business, and you're fine. Anyone with a lick of common sense could stay out of trouble.

But Halsey was a civilian, and the situation was escalating. Vance might have been younger than the Chief, but he was more familiar with the rules of dealing with gangs, and almost as battle-hardened.

John was frustrated. With anybody else present, things would have gone smoothly enough. Vance had a reputation for bad luck and while John didn't believe in luck, he couldn't deny that things just wouldn't go according to plan. No matter what. There was something about that kid that seemed to attract trouble of all kinds.

It was even more frustrating when Vance and Halsey took his silence as assent. It wasn't. It was quite the opposite – an expression of his disapproval and discomfort. Much of the discomfort came from the fact that he was torn. On one hand, he wanted to get back into the thick of things, and he had a feeling that a fight waited just around that corner. On the other, he was supposed to be protecting Halsey, a mission he took more seriously for the fact that she was the closest thing he had to a mother. Aside from Kelly and Linda, and Fred wherever he was, Halsey was also the only friend he had left. Certainly the only friend he could see on a regular basis without having to come up with some complicated and convoluted excuse that would inevitably be caught out as a lie.

It was difficult, almost impossible, for John to follow and be passive. Vance was inexperienced. Granted, the kid had more experience when it came to the gangs, but not when it came to combat, and the rules of the battlefield were much the same no matter the enemy.

His gut wanted to trust the younger Spartan, but his head kept telling him to ignore that feeling. Frustratingly, he couldn't come up with one good reason to ignore his head, other than what Mendez had taught him all those years ago. He didn't know what to do. It was an unfamiliar and incredibly unpleasant feeling.

"Let's at least find out what's going on," he heard himself say, his voice a little gruffer than usual.

"Good plan," Vance agreed. "I'd like to know if we need to keep looking over our shoulders, or if we can relax a little."

John consulted his gut feeling, but he wasn't sure what it was telling him. He still felt like something was going to go horribly wrong, and that seemed to overshadow every decision he tried to make. He was painfully aware of the fact that he didn't know enough about Haven and its gangs to be able to make a decision based on his logic. A sharp pang of an odd kind of anger gave him brief pause… then he realized what it was. Jealousy. He was jealous of Vance.

That was beneath him. He squashed the feeling, observing in his clinical way that he wouldn't want to swap places with the younger Spartan anyway. Fours were more emotional, not as professional as John and his brothers and sisters, and their far greater numbers were very much required for the simple fact that they died more often.

All stupid, petty reasons not to want to trade places, but he couldn't acknowledge the real reason. He couldn't even think it to himself.

John followed Vance and Halsey around the corner, and had to throw himself off balance to avoid walking into Halsey's back. He glanced from his allies to the mob gathered nearby to the ground at the mob's feet – there was a body there – and back to his allies again. They had both seen dead bodies plenty of times before, bodies that had once been people who had died in far worse ways than this. He was silent for a moment, before he realized that perhaps it was _who_ that body once belonged to that was significant.

"Who was hit?" he asked, trying out terminology he had never actually used before. Of course he was familiar with it – nobody was _that_ naïve – but he hadn't had cause to use it.

"That's Papa Elton," Vance said, voice hollow in a way that made John think of when Cortana had admitted to him that she was going rampant. It took him a moment to recognize that the younger Spartan was expressing a feeling of dread. He cast a confused look at Halsey, who he knew could read him despite the fact that his face was hidden.

"Chris 'Papa' Elton is the head of The Family, one of the four mid-strength gangs. The Family operates mostly covertly. People know they're about, but most people don't know who they actually _are_."

"This is bad," Vance stated, as if it was obvious. John figured it probably was, to someone who had a clue about the gangs and who was allied with whom.

Again, Halsey came to his rescue. "The Family is allied with PlasmaScar. Word will get to the Plasmas that Lead to Blood carried out a hit on the leader of one of their allies. I give it… maybe two days. Then war will erupt."

War. That word again. John had yet to see anything here on Haven that made him think of the desperate struggle to survive that _he_ knew war to be. Armor, tanks, snipers, artillery… grenades left right and center. Air strikes, infantry raids, alternately being responsible for and trying to survive any and all of them. Unless he was greatly underestimating the gangs, this would not be a war so much as an eruption of civil unrest. Most people didn't make that distinction, but John did. Civil unrest could be quickly defused with clever politics, good propaganda, and a small show of force. War had to be fought down to the last man.

"I hope not," Vance said slowly, "but hope is all too shaky a foundation these days…"

John let out a soft, frustrated hiss. He was trying to keep up but found himself getting left farther and farther behind. He decided to just watch, listen, and learn. He suspected it would take him more years than he had to ever really understand.

Vance turned away from the scene and kept moving. The garage wasn't far, and the head mechanic would put them up until their vehicle was ready. Only one more gang turf border to cross, from Razors land to Full Throttle territory. Full Throttle was another gang he knew they could count on to help out. The Throttles were firm allies of the Razors and the Leads, and the best mechanics this side of Abyssal Chute.

"Addison Horton will gladly provide us with accommodation," he said after a brief silence. "She owns the garage and the vehicle we're borrowing. She's not a Razor or a Lead, which is actually a good thing… because she's a member of Full Throttle, who are nearly as good at staying hidden as The Family. Just let me do the talking and the rest will fall into place."

"Hm," the Chief growled. There were so many layers of meaning in that syllable that Vance felt, for a moment, like he was talking to his father. He didn't even try to look deeper than the fourth layer. It was plain enough how the older Spartan felt about trusting gangsters.

"Anyone who's anyone on Haven is either a member of a gang, or lives under the protection of one," Vance said pointedly, matching his words with a sharp glance. "Anyone with enough power to help us is a member of a gang. Anyone with the power _and _the inclination is a Lead, a Razor, or a Throttle. We're just going to have to deal with it."

It was patently obvious that the Chief did not approve, but Vance couldn't exactly do anything about it. Needs must. There was no choice in the matter. Not unless they wanted to wait around for weeks while the UNSC dithered over whether or not to send them something smaller with which to traverse the tunnels. Sometimes it was necessary to circumvent procedure.

And sometimes it was impossible to know what the right thing to do really was. Vance kept his eyes low, looking for the line in the sidewalk that was slightly curved. It was the only marker that indicated the border between Razorwire and Full Throttle land, and nobody paid much attention to it. Razor's enemies were the same as Throttle's. There was a lot of trust between the two gangs. If the 'enemy' dared set foot on either one's turf, they would defend one another, and rely on one another to protect the border.

"Addie will help," he said to himself, picturing the mechanic's impudent grin, an expression that was somewhat out of place on her heavily-tattooed face. Addie would help for more reasons than just that Vance was who he was. Vance knew she had feelings for him. Strong feelings that had gotten both of them in trouble a few times, years ago, before he had left Haven.

He stepped across the curved crack in the pavement that marked the border. "We're on Throttle land now. The third building on the other side of the road is the one we're looking for."

"That? That doesn't look like a garage," Halsey said.

"As I said… Addie's a Throttle. And Full Throttle are nearly as good at hiding as The Family." Vance paused, listening for any vehicle noise, then crossed the street. Halsey and the Chief followed. As he lifted his hand to rap on the door, it swung open.

"…Hayd? Is it really you?" Addison's tattooed face broke into a tentative smile.

"I thought you said she was expecting us," the Chief said before Vance could respond.

"She was expecting _you_," Vance explained quickly. "Yes, Addie, it's me. Doctor Halsey, Master Chief, meet Addison Horton. The only person on the entire planet, other than Owen and Martha, who didn't think I was either high or crazy when I told them I wanted to enlist."

"I keep it quiet," Addison said, "but I support the UNSC. Mostly the people here either hate all authority, or support the rebellion. Not me. I'd have signed up, except I already had a bunch of gang tattoos. They would never have considered my application."

"Vance has tattoos," the Chief pointed out.

"They're not gang tattoos," Addison and Haydn said in unison. Addie elaborated. "I have Throttle tattoos on my face, arms and shoulders. I got inked to identify with the gang. Hayd's tattoos are anti-gang in their symbolism. He got inked to set himself apart from his family."

"Could we come in?" Halsey asked, shooting a pointed look at the Chief.

"Of course, of course. Come on in. But I'll kick _him_ out if he keeps up with the inquisition." Addison jerked her head in the big Spartan's direction, then continued talking as she led the way through the hall and into a surprisingly large living room. "Yeah, I'm a ganger. You don't have to like it. But if you want to stay in my house, then you're going to have to deal. I'll have that tunnel crawler ready in a couple of days, unless fucking PlasmaScar block my parts shipments again. If that happens, I can still get the parts, but it'll take a bit longer. Um. Don't sit down. Doctor, you can, but do you boys have anything else to wear? That armor will break my furniture."

Vance chuckled and pulled his uniform out of a compartment in his armor. "I travel light, but you can't say I don't come prepared."

The Chief shifted his weight, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I _have_ fatigues, training uniform, and dress uniform…"

"But he'd rather stay in armor," Vance finished. "Don't worry, Chief, we're safe here. This house and the garage below it are the safest places on all of Haven… for members of the UNSC, or Lead to Blood, Full Throttle or Razorwire. If we weren't safe, I wouldn't be walking around with no helmet on, much less have packed for the possibility of removing my armor."

Half an hour later, John sat stiffly on the couch, occasionally touching the pistol at his hip. It struck him that the contrast between him and the young Spartan sprawled on the floor playing a board game with the civilian Addison Horton was almost comical. He just couldn't relax, whereas Vance seemed right at home.

John remembered a time when he and Kelly had sprawled across the floor like that, also playing board games. Making up rules, changing them, removing them completely. A happier time, a more relaxed time. A time when laughter was natural, not forced and foreign as it was now. Even the touchy-feely, comparatively casual Kelly seemed to have lost her ability to laugh. And that was wrong. John suspected that _he_ was the source of that tension, which was wrong, but he didn't know how to fix that problem.

He had barely touched the plate of food on his lap, despite the delicious aroma wafting from it. It smelled amazing, but John wasn't hungry. He was too nervous to eat.

Halsey 'accidentally' bumped his arm with her elbow as she went to get up. The Doctor was a normal human, but she was well and truly familiar with the silent language Spartans used, and while she couldn't always see the signals John and his team used, she could certainly use them. John suspected most of what she 'said' was unconscious and involuntary, but even so, she 'spoke' his language.

He felt his shoulders relax a little, and then laughed at himself when he almost jumped out of his skin at a knock on the door. As he listened to himself laugh, he was struck by the thought that it wasn't his laugh. It was Cortana's laugh.

_"She left part of herself in your neural lace, John. She's not gone. If you can awaken that part of her, I might be able to reconstruct her from what she left with you for safekeeping."_ The memory of Halsey's words echoed through his mind, and John suddenly felt with a certainty that took his breath away that the Doctor was right.

An unfamiliar voice ripped him from his thoughts and he was instantly on edge again, right hand on his pistol, ready to draw the weapon at a moment's notice.

"…but I can't guarantee I can get the right actuators for the legs. Certainly not in the time frame we agreed on. Sorry."

"This is why I won't pay you for parts in advance, Hendrix," Addison's voice said from the hall, getting closer. "You back out on me too often. You're just lucky you can get me parts cheaper than Buzz can. He, at least, is reliable."

"I got you everything else you need," Hendrix protested. "It's just those damn actuators. You have any idea how damn hard they are to find? And you want _eight_!"

There was a dull thump from the hall. John was on his feet before he could blink, but Addison sauntered back into the lounge a moment later, unharmed apart from bloody knuckles on her left hand.

"What was that?" John demanded.

"Easy on there, Spartan, I just put a supplier back in his box. They get too mouthy now and then." The civilian woman eyed him speculatively. "Wouldn't mind going a few rounds with you. You look like a challenging opponent."

John stared at her. "I'd kill you. Even holding back, trying to _let_ you win."

"If this is because I'm a chick, I'll have you know I've put Vance flat on his back seven times. And he was the MMA champion here, before he left."

"I wouldn't spar with you if you were male, six foot seven and three hundred pounds, and the MMA champion of the UNSC. For the same reason."

"Pah, you're no fun," Addison complained. "Hayd, how 'bout you? Or are you too chicken?"

"Three rounds with you? You're on," Vance said, on his feet in a flash. John thought it was a bad idea, but kept his mouth shut. Experience was the best teacher. He watched the two Haven natives leave the lounge for another room – presumably it was a gym of some sort – and then sighed and shook his head, catching Halsey's eye.

"He'll learn, John. He's still young. And his fireteam hasn't been used for a lot. Grimm gets sent on difficult, dangerous ops, but they're given months between missions. He's inexperienced and hasn't tested his capabilities yet. Not against a yardstick he understands. Remember when you killed those ODSTs?"

"Of course. They were a threat. I neutralized that threat. It wasn't until later that I learned how to neutralize a threat without eliminating it completely."

"But that encounter gave you a better idea of what you were, and are, capable of."

"I won't deny it."

"If I thought he would hurt her, I wouldn't allow this." Halsey frowned at him until he met her gaze.

John sighed. "Might as well watch, then. Not much else to do." _Other than see if I can find Cortana…_

"That's the spirit."

* * *

**AN: Bit slow in posting this one, but meh. My muse for Vance hasn't been overly high. Nor has my muse for anyone else been especially high. Just one of those things.**

**Might have found a way to bring Cortana back that doesn't feel too awkward, so make sure you read through this chappy, not just skim it, and tell me what you think. Too weird? Or is it ok?**

**As always please review :)**

**Halo and all canon characters belong to 343 Industries/Bungie/Microsoft. Story, OCs and Shield World Haven are mine.**


	7. Chapter 6: Come To Blows

**_SIX; COME TO BLOWS_**

Hayd was going easy on her again.

And worse was the fact that he was _beating_ her. Addison pushed an irritated hiss through her teeth, then drank another few mouthfuls of the water and electrolyte powder mix she'd made up. After the first round, Hayd was ahead. That was normal. He tended to restrain himself more with each round. But he had won that round by _five points_, and Addie could feel the bruises blossoming across her face. There were more on her shoulders and arms, but Haydn had mercifully avoided her chest. There wasn't a lot that hurt more than copping a fist to the tit.

The differences didn't stop there. Addie was blowing hard, despite the fact that she was a professional cage fighter now. Hayd was on a chair, taking up as much room as he physically could, and breathing so deeply and slowly that he could have been asleep. She knew he was a Spartan now, but Addie hadn't thought the physical enhancements would have been quite that extensive.

"He's good," the other Spartan said – the one who refused, or wasn't allowed, to tell her his name.

"He's holding back," Addie puffed, draining the last of the bottle of sports drink.

"If he wasn't, you'd be dead by now." The Master Chief's face held a bland expression, but Addie thought she saw something in his eyes. Concern, perhaps. Whether it was for his comrade or for her, she couldn't tell.

"Probably. I didn't realize you guys were so heavily augmented."

"The Fours are. Like Vance. I'm a Two. Outmoded. But I won't be outdone."

Addie let out a delighted giggle. "Does that mean you'll go a few rounds with Hayd when I'm done with him?"

"If you promise not to act like a five-year-old." The next well-controlled expression that crossed the Chief's face was a tiny frown of disapproval. "No screams. No squeals. If you so much as swear under your breath, I'll hear it."

"Got it." It was no fun acting like an adult, but Addie knew she had to grow up one of these days. She was twenty-four. "Eh, Hayd, break time's over!"

Addison got to her feet and stepped back into the ring, taking her place in her corner in time to watch Haydn vault over the ropes. Suddenly she wasn't so sure of herself.

John didn't like standing by and watching a civilian get pounded. He squashed a strong desire to intervene, knowing Vance wouldn't leave Addison with any injury that she wouldn't sustain fighting a normal human being. That was a small comfort, given that this was mixed martial arts, and people died in the ring all too often. There was a certain move, knee to the chest while pushing the person down from above, that could be quite lethal with a frighteningly small amount of force. John didn't know what that move was called, just that it was deadly.

This fight was unusual in that it was being fought in a boxing ring. Usually MMA was fought out in a cage. But this was clearly Addison's training room, and from the blood on the floor, it appeared fights _were_ held here. Either that or training was more serious for this particular fighter than it was for most.

There was no doubt Addison was a professional. She hadn't told him as much, but John was good at picking them. That level of skill, strength and athleticism would carry someone out of the amateur ring and into the professional cage in very short order.

He watched as young Spartan and equally young civilian traded blows. Addison managed a lucky hit and bloodied Vance's nose, but he didn't seem to notice, responding with a swift jab to her kidney which made her double over for a moment. John quickly realized how much restraint his comrade was showing, and it was only a couple more moments before he noticed that as the fight continued, Vance held back more and more.

"This is an interesting fight," Halsey commented.

John just grunted, still fighting the urge to intervene.

"Vance really isn't comfortable hitting her, but despite that, he's one round up, and leading in this one. And it's not like Addison's a beginner. She's good."

"A beginner wouldn't have been able to bloody a Spartan's nose. No matter how much that Spartan was holding back." John stopped watching the fight, instead choosing the more comfortable sight of Halsey's face.

"Exactly. Relax, this round will be over shortl-" Halsey broke off, wincing, and an instant later the sound of two people hitting the floor hard had John's expression mirroring the Doctor's. That wouldn't hurt much for a Spartan, but Addison was going to feel it in the morning. If she wasn't feeling it already.

"They're both fine," Halsey said. "Vance has just taken the fight to the floor. He was a third dan black belt at judo before he enlisted. Now he's seventh dan. He's equally competent in four different upright martial arts, he's just more comfortable with the grappling side of things."

"I won't tap out," Addison grunted. John turned his attention back to the fight. Vance had Addison in an impossible position. John doubted even _he_, in all his years of experience, would be able to get out of a bind like that.

Addie got an arm free and elbowed Haydn in the solar plexus with all her strength. Hayd grunted and his grip loosened, and Addie wriggled free, scrambled to her feet, and danced away across the ring. On the floor, Haydn had the advantage. He was a lot taller than her, which gave him leverage, and easily three times her weight. It was her agility that Addie found to be her greatest advantage, and upright, she could use that to its fullest.

But Hayd had gotten faster. Addie swore and tried to dodge but he was up in a heartbeat and crossed the ring in less time than it took her to see that he was moving.

"Well _damn_," the Master Chief muttered. Addison couldn't pay him enough attention to figure out who had surprised him, because she was too busy trying to keep Hayd from getting the leverage to force her to the ground again.

She'd lost this fight. Hayd was up too many points now for her to ever come back. But damn it, she wasn't going to let him make her tap out. But before she could think, he got one hand on her elbow and the other in her armpit, and the world tipped on its axis. Hayd slammed her to the floor and then came down next to her, trapping her legs with one of his. Before she could get free he put her in a headlock with one arm and trapped both her elbows with the other.

"Tap out," he whispered in her ear.

"Never," Addie growled. She only had to survive another thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds? In this position? Who was she kidding? She'd seen people killed because they were too damned stubborn to tap out. Hayd's arm cut off her airway with a very specific amount of force that she suspected was the least he was capable of applying. He wasn't going to push the point any farther. Addie knew he wasn't going to risk breaking her neck.

But thirty seconds was an awfully long time when you were being slowly, carefully strangled.

She tapped out, and Haydn instantly released her and got to his feet. Then, typical Hayd, he offered her his hand to help her up.

"Fuck you," she said jokingly, getting up on her own steam. Ouch. Had he left _any_ of her muscles be? She was sore all over, and it was going to be so much worse in the morning.

"Well, if you insist," Hayd said, grinning like an idiot because he was trying so hard not to laugh.

"You are _so_ immature."

"Look who's talking!"

Addie shook her head and laughed. "Well, Master Chief, if you go a few rounds with Hayd, I'mma stick around and watch. Otherwise, I'll take my parts shipment and see what I can get done without the actuators I need to finish that tunnel crawler."

"Best of five," John growled, looking forward to the challenge despite himself. "No rules."

"You're on!" Vance vaulted out of the ring, still barely blowing, and threw his untouched bottle of sports drink to Addie. Then he jumped back over the ropes and took his place in his corner.

_-LATER-_

John finally felt himself relax as he watched Vance's subtle post-fight celebration. The young Spartan was flat on his back, blowing hard, face wearing an exultant but exhausted smile. It had taken all five rounds to determine a winner and it was more than fair, John thought, that Vance be proud of himself for that win.

Periodically, clanging and swearing drifted up through the floor – beneath which Addison was in the garage working on the tunnel crawler – and Halsey was in the living room watching, and making the occasional grumpy comment on, the local news bulletin. John and Vance were still in the training room. John was there more because he had nowhere better to be than for any sentimentality.

_Cortana,_ he thought, turning his attention inwards, _I know you're in here somewhere._

There was no response. John hadn't expected one. Halsey had said he needed to awaken the part of Cortana that was in his neural lace before she could be rebuilt, but had neglected to tell him how to do that. He assumed he had to find the AI first, but that was easier said than done. He didn't know what to look for. He knew Cortana as the cool, liquid presence in his mind, and the voice in his ear. He knew her as a thinker – an over-thinker at times – and he knew her as his friend.

_No, friend is the wrong word,_ he told himself. _But if not my friend, then… what?_

The answer didn't come to him immediately, and he didn't agonize over it. Instead, he went searching through his brain for anything that might give him the answer as to how to awaken Cortana. That was the most important question on his mind.

_Cortana? Wake up. I miss you._

It was the first time he'd let himself think the words since she'd sacrificed herself to save his life. But there was still no response. No liquid presence in his mind, nothing.

John sighed and left the training room, making his way back to the living room. He needed to talk to Halsey.

"You said I had to awaken her," he said, offering no other explanation when the Doctor stood and faced him with a confused expression on her face.

"Hmm?"

"Cortana. You said I had to awaken the part of her in my neural lace before you could rebuild her. But you didn't tell me how to do it."

Halsey blinked a few times, and then her expression resolved into one of understanding. "Right. That. Obviously you have to find her first. I can help with that part. But I'm afraid I can't help you wake her. Think I haven't tried already, as many ways as I can think of? Now… last time you lost her. Remember that?"

"I had to leave her with the Gravemind… but I had her chip."

"Which was destroyed this time. Yes. But you have your neural lace. Nobody can take that from you. I have a spare memory crystal large enough to hold Cortana and all her knowledge… and give her room to expand. That will become yours when you awaken her."

"Finding her is the first step," John said, more to remind himself than to remind Halsey.

"And that's what I'm trying to help you do. When you left her with the Gravemind, part of her stayed with you. I've seen the footage your helmet recorded. The times she spoke to you, the times she interrupted your HUD. I take it she's been more passive this time, but you'll find her. Remember how it felt when she spoke to you. Separate what is Cortana from what was the Gravemind, and search yourself for the sensation that is Cortana."

John sat down on the floor and cast his mind inwards, remembering what he had thought were hallucinations at the time. He remembered the fear that he was slowly going crazy, and wondered if that was how Cortana had felt when she had realized what was going on…

"Focus, John!"

"Sorry," he grunted, pulling his mind back to the events of New Mombasa and later, the Ark. When High Charity had arrived, and infected Earth with the Flood… when Cortana's almost-presence in his mind had been at its strongest, right before he'd rescued her. It was incredibly difficult to identify where Cortana ended and the Gravemind began but he examined the feeling closely and finally he found the line.

Latching onto the memory to give him a compass, John found a dim presence in the back of his mind that felt similar. It wasn't the same, but it was… it was her. He found himself caught off-guard by a kind of fierce joy that reminded him just how human he really was.

"I found her," he said, not caring that he wasn't at all in control of his voice, his face, or his body language.

"I haven't seen you smile like that since you were six," Halsey told him. "You should smile more often."

John chuckled, and was amazed at how natural it sounded. "Maybe I will. I still have to wake her, though."

As suddenly as it had surfaced, his joy faded, and was replaced with grim determination. And, inexplicably, a sense of loss. John didn't understand the feeling, so he ignored it, instead concentrating on the task at hand.

_"Let yourself be human, John. Stop making a distinction between yourself and a Marine, or a civilian. Human is human, no matter the differences in your body, training and upbringing… you were born human. Nobody can take that from you but you."_ Cortana had said something along those lines to him once, but she had worded it differently. Even so, the words he heard in his mind were 'spoken' with her voice.

Her presence was still dim. She felt like she was asleep. Suddenly he knew why. She couldn't properly wake up, because he was still shying away from his grief. And there was a lot of it. Kelly, Linda and Fred were the only other Spartans of his generation left. The rest were missing, or dead. And Halsey wasn't even sure where Fred was… the Doctor was going on John's conviction that his 'brother' was alive somewhere. The same conviction that told him that Grey Team was out there somewhere, frozen but alive.

Inexplicable, sure, but when was his gut feeling ever wrong?

_Let yourself be human._ But that was much easier said than done.

* * *

**AN: finally! A long way behind schedule but we have a new chapter up. A lot happens and not much happens, if that makes any sense at all.**

**As always please review, let me know what you think, how it's going, etc.**

**Love you guys!**

**Halo and canon characters aren't mine. OC's, original concepts, story and plotline are.**


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